


Howling Ghosts (They Reappear)

by klammer



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller, Troy (2004)
Genre: M/M, non-explicit reference to violence and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:07:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klammer/pseuds/klammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only at night does Achilles lay down his spears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howling Ghosts (They Reappear)

Only at night does Achilles lay down his spears. Only once the sky shows the beginning of stars does he strip himself of his metal skin, only then do his hands become flesh instead of weapons, and his mind a human’s not a battlefield’s. 

Only in the mask of darkness can Achilles move safely, veiled by the darkness that matches his innards. Heels hitting the ground at a pace not even battle has seen. The silence of the blackened hours mask the body of Achilles, yet only now can he feel his heart beating like it should. His blood begins to pump properly through his veins and humanity feels a mere footsteps away.

Humanity is run’s distance away from where he should spend the night. Humanity lies on a bed warmer than his could ever be. Humanity is patient, empathetic, Patroclus.

It is with the mindset that the rest of the world is blind that Achilles stumbles into the space Patroclus occupies. Spear-like fingers run through swirled, charcoal hair. Chapped lips on sweaty cheek, forehead, neck, chest. Chiron-trained hands heal the skin in their path, Achilles will not let them leave his body; he wants to be fixed.

The same hands will unbutton Achilles’ fire-resistant skin, _This is not you_ , he will whisper, voice carried by the wind and his own will in the silent night, _You are not just a soldier_ , he reassures, _You are mine, you belong to me and you belong to this tent. Outside cannot comprehend the ownership of us._

Achilles does not get the words to disagree past his razor-sharp teeth, _This is me_ , he thinks, voice stopped by Patroclus’ tongue on his throat. 

_When I remove my armor from myself it feels like I’m being stripped bare and allowing my organs to be shown. I am not only naked but I am skinned._

Healing hands and steady thrusts. 

_The quilts we lay underneath weigh upon me like the bodies I’ve killed. The burden only gets lighter when there is metal to protect my head and a shield in my grasp._

Long strokes and soundless moans. 

_The burden only disappears completely when your fingertips caress my jaw._

Sleep comes with the release of the day’s frustrations and for a moment, rest is dreamless. Only seconds after true blackness is bestowed, Achilles begins to hear the souls he has thrown down to the underworld. Their voices sit upon his chest like weights and he can hardly breathe.

Morning comes with the reappearance of fighting gear and the ignorance of nightfall.


End file.
